Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
She unbuckles her seatbelt, then crawls over the center console and kisses me.
Nova Ryan makes me feel like a teenager and before I even slide the seat back to give her more room, I am hard.
She reaches down—not for my dick, but for my seatbelt—and unclips it. Then she backs off, leaning into the passenger seat as she pulls her knees up and slides her panties down to her ankles. My eyes dart between her legs as she does this and I catch a tiny glimpse of her pussy. Then I look back up at her and we lock eyes as she once again crawls over the center console and sits in my lap.
Her hands come up to my face and she smiles down at me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I can’t even speak. She’s grinding her hips back and forth so thinking about that is currently taking up most of my brain power. So I just kiss her.
It’s long, and slow, and twisted. She unbuttons my pants, pulls my dick out, and pumps it a few times.
I do not need the encouragement, but I don’t complain.
When we finally pull back from our kiss, she lifts her hips up, positions the tip of my cock at her entrance, and sits down. We both close our eyes and moan.
And then she rocks a little.
It’s gonna be a slow fuck and I like that. Because almost all my sexual memories with Nova were frantic and fast. They were hard fucks against walls or trees. We were almost always hiding behind something or in a forbidden room. And this is not our first truck fuck by any means.
But it’s slow.
We’re not anywhere forbidden.
We’re in her driveway, for all intents and purposes.
We’re not teenagers, either. Even though this feels like a very teenager thing to do. And we’re not part of some team or group.
It’s just us.
Being with her is my dream.
It is agonizing.
It is erotic.
It is unforgettable and I want it to last forever.
All she did was jerk me off. I would kiss her like we were long-lost lovers and she would pump her hand up and down my shaft until I came all over it. Then I would back up, button my pants or pull up my shorts, and lead her away. I never left her there. I always took her back.
Then we would go our separate ways without speaking.
She told me later she didn’t even know my name until I was there, in Olsen’s cottage, and she came in for her first check-in dinner.
Right before she knocked on his door, Olsen and I were kissing. He had me pushed up against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, his chest pressed hard into mine, his fingers wrapped up in my hair.
I didn’t even know she was coming. I thought he was cooking for me.
So when she knocked, my head quickly turned to look at the door. “Who’s that?”
Olsen backed off, smirking. “Just wait.”
I walked into the living room, took a sip of water, and when he opened the door and I saw Nova, I was licking my lips.
“Um.” She was as confused as me. We didn’t meet in living rooms. We didn’t meet in front of other people. “Hi. Am I early?”
“Nah, come on in. Have you met Locke? I don’t remember if I introduced you.” He pointed to me.
Her eyes darted to mine, then his. “I thought this was my check-in meeting.”
“It is,” Olsen said. Then he paused, watching us.
At first, I thought he knew and this was a set-up. But he didn’t. He was confused. “What’s going on?” This question was directed at me, of course. Not Nova. His eyes narrowed, like he had any reason to be conflicted about this. I was the one who got ambushed.
But he didn’t know. It really was innocent—well, maybe not innocent. He did it on purpose, for sure. He told me so. But he didn’t know that Nova and I were meeting in secret to touch each other.
“Do you two know each other?”
And me being me, I just went for the truth. “She’s been jerking me off in public for the past month.”
Nova’s face went red. “What?” But that wasn’t the extent of her response. “The fuck?”
I looked at Olsen and kinda laughed. Which was bad form, now that I think about it. But I would not take back anything about that night. Not even how it started.
“Dude,” Olsen said, “I hope you’re fucking with me.”
“You’re making dinner for her?” I asked. “Or me?” Then I said the inevitable last part of that question. “Or both of us?”
He almost went red too. But Olsen is not easily embarrassed. “Hey, I figured the two of you might hit it off.”
No. He figured the three of us would hit it off.
And we certainly did.